


See

by Otonymous



Series: Kinktober Writing Challenge [3]
Category: MLQC: Fandom, love and producer, 恋与制作人 | Liàn Yǔ Zhì Zuò Rén | Mr. Love: Queen's Choice (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity (mild allusion to), Murder (allusion to), Prostitution (mild allusion to), Supernatural Elements, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: Observant eyes see all, but what happens when the watcher is watched?





	See

**Author's Note:**

> My third entry for the Kinktober 2019 challenge and my first foray into something with a supernatural theme, because I LOVE stories about things that go bump in the night 😂
> 
> Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading!

The tedium of days passing, each as uneventful as the last, was more suffocating than the weight that pressed so often upon her:

Balding men nursing glasses of whiskey as they searched for company on demand, scrolling past photos of women with red-slicked pouts, beckoning to be chosen from among countless others with the click of a button.

Secret lovers indulging in afternoon trysts, all quiet whispers and hushed moans smothered by down pillows and feather duvets. Promises heaped upon promises to just _“wait a while longer…until the children are older."_ Empty words left on the doorsteps of broken homes.

Closed in on all sides, she had seen it all.

Until the day he walked through the door.

That man.

_He was different._

Entering the room, he had stepped close…so close she could smell him: crisp and sweet, like the freshly mowed lawns she used to run through barefoot on hot summer days.

But his demeanour spoke of far more solemn things than sunshine and chlorine and popsicles melting sugary sweet down fingers and palms.

Dark hair fell over dark eyes, yet still could not conceal the intelligence in that gaze, gleaming with the edge and precision of a scalpel as it swept the room.

And when they rested on the bed, she swore she sensed his hand tightening around the card key, however minuscule the change.

With nothing but time on one’s hands, one learns that the smallest things are often the most significant.

So she shouldn’t have been surprised when he _looked_ at her — turned in her direction until those eyes sharpened into the stare of a predator with prey in its grasp, and she knew that he knew.

Then suddenly, a knock on the door: two soft raps and the man was completely transformed, warm tenderness thawing the ice in his features that chilled her to the bone to be fixed under that glare. And when he answered, she knew why.

“Lucien, I’m so sorry! This was the only room left!”

_He was deeply, irrevocably, in love with her._ This woman…full of life.

Falling into his open arms, his lover’s smile is radiant when he whispers into her ear, tones gentle and reassuring, speaking as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

Perhaps there was something of the mystic in her, some supernatural power extending from elegant fingertips that moved him — this man named Lucien — in ways that wasn’t readily apparent to the naked eye. For all it took was a single caress of her hand, thumb moving in affectionate circles about the apple of his cheek, and the other person in the room was forgotten.

She watched the pair, spotlighted under the glow of incandescent lamps. Felt their desperation in fingers and lips and hands through hair, frustrated by layers of fine-spun wool and silk laying between flushed flesh.

It should have been nothing new. She had witnessed the act of love, been crushed by the weight of its rhythm, so many times before in this very room that what should have been sacred — or even taboo — no longer held the allure of mystery.

But there was something about this man.

The way his lover writhed in his arms to feel his hand roaming beneath her blouse, the tension coiled in the muscles of his forearm speaking volumes about his self-control; that he continued to stroke soft and slow when lust demanded that fabric be torn to shreds.

The darkness floating beneath the surface of composure, ripples of emotion periodically disturbing the calm, gentlemanly veneer to reveal the beast within, raging to escape and _devour._

Yes, there was something different about him, this man named Lucien. And she was transfixed to gaze upon him. She simply could not remember the last time she chanced upon someone whose emotions ran so deep. Pure, even.

Possessive too, if his jealousy was any indication — although his lover would surely laugh if she were to learn the reason why. That is, if she weren’t frightened by the news to begin with. So when she moves towards the bed, pulling the blouse over her head, he guides his lover to the sofa instead, leaving no room for argument as he kneels between her legs to run his tongue up the insides of her thighs, hot and wet.

Slipping one finger, then two, past those pretty pink folds to sweep away the remnants of bewilderment with every barely suppressed moan, until the sound of his hand diving slick and deep provided the sole accompaniment to their shuddering breaths.

So she watches, captivated by this man of shadow and light. She is entranced by the way he moves, sensual and sure, when he brings wet fingers to shiny lips, slipping tapered fingertips into his mouth to savour the flavour of his lover on his tongue.

She stills when his dress shirt unbuttons to unveil muscular perfection; feels herself throbbing to look upon the curves of his buttocks when he steps out of his trousers to reveal a sizeable cock, already hard with need.

And when that same hand — moist still with spit and his lover’s arousal - languidly traces the length of his shaft, she hungers for the pearlescent drop beading at its tip, wonders how it would feel if his smooth cock were to smear it across her lips, open and waiting.

Then, for one dreaded moment, uncertainty nips at the corners of the fate she thought she had long ago resigned herself to.

Because desire, burning and insistent, made her yearn to be pinned beneath this man, wrists bound together by the press of one large palm above her head. To taste the salinity of his skin as tongue travelled from tip to beautiful toe. To feel him bury between her legs…slide slow then thrust fast...until he was _absolutely assured_ that she knew the sincerity of his intentions.

Much in the same way that he worshipped his lover now, hips rolling hard against hers to sink them deeper into the cushions with each frenzied movement.

She had never had a proper lover before. But this, she imagines, must be what it is like. How it should be like.

“Ah, Lucien, I…I’m coming…”

The woman’s breathless voice tears her from her reverie, and she is once again observing from without, the beauty of the bodies entwined in passion before her a stinging reminder of all she had lost before she even had the chance to hold it in the palm of her hand.

* * *

“I’ll meet you in the lobby, darling,” Lucien says as he lays a kiss at the crown of his lover’s head, watching her with smiling eyes as she left the room, cheeks still beautifully flushed from his attentions.

And then, when all was quiet…he touched her.

Laid his palm atop the bed.

Soft. Solemn.

Comforting.

He pulls away, and she watches him reach for the phone on the bedside table, straining to hear the muted voice of the concierge at the other end of the line.

Hears him — this man named Lucien — say the words that would finally, _finally_, set her free:

“Could you please send someone up to room number 444? I’m finding the mattress very uncomfortable.”

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Lucien emerges from the bathroom to see the girl sitting on his couch, face completely pale. He approaches fast, laying both hands on her shoulders when he notices them shaking, directing his gaze to where her finger pointed towards the television screen: yellow tape and the flashing lights of police cruisers.

“They discovered a body at the hotel we were staying in. Apparently, a set of bones was found stuffed inside a mattress. I wonder which room…”

Suddenly, the screen goes dark. The girl looks towards Lucien, already setting the remote control down on the coffee table.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, silly girl. I’m sure they’re in good hands now.”


End file.
